


Enough

by Areiton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Canon Divergent, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Established Relationship, Grumpy Dean, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV First Person, Post Season 10, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 16:42:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10442403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: The world ended—except it didn’t. In the aftermath, Dean packs up his brother and his angelAnd they go home. Somewhere where they can recover.And that’s enough.





	

**Author's Note:**

> UMMM. I wrote this ages ago and keep forgetting to post it. Wandering through my files today, I stumbled over it and..yeah. Enjoy. <3

He was sick.

That’s the thing that bothered me.

Angels don’t get sick. But Cas was. He’d been feverish and sleeping for the better part of three days, recovering from the battle.

Sammy said he drained his mojo. Hanna said his grace was leaking, before the fight. Anyway you cut it—I didn’t like it.

I felt, sometimes, like I just got him. We’ve spent so much time fighting, for the world and each other, that it feels precious. Fragile.

This feels fragile.

So I pack up my brother and my angel, and I drive. Until the nightmare of the battle fades into the rearview and all that’s ahead is tomorrow and a chance at some rest.

There’s always going to be something else. Something else to hunt, some apocalypse to stop, some demon or monster or angel to kill.

Something.

But for now. It feels almost like we’re in this inbetween.

A place where we can breathe. Where Sam can jog in the morning and research shit that we’ve never needed to know but he’s a curious little nerd and Bobby can fuck around in the salvage yard.

Hell, even Jody stops by.

After three days, Castiel woke up. By then, we’re at Bobby’s. I kick Sam out of our room—the one Bobby doesn’t say is ours, but the one that I’ve slept in every night under this roof since I was seven and we showed up at the old man’s door for the first time.

Anyway, I kick Sam out and tuck Cas in, and then strip down and crawl in next to him. He doesn’t wake up, not in the Impala as we drove here and not when Gigantor carried him up the stairs, batting me away with a bitch face and a ‘shut up Dean, I care about him too’.

So I shut up.

Bobby has questions, but I ignore him and Sam, shut the door, and crawl in bed next to Cas and even though he doesn’t wake, I press a kiss to his neck and pull him tight to me, and whisper, “If you don’t wake your feathery ass up soon, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

He doesn’t wake up. Just shifts a tiny bit closer, and that’s enough.

For now, that’s enough.

 

* * *

 

 

But he woke up, eventually. It was midway through our first day at Bobby’s, and I was sitting on the bottom stair, listening to Sam talk about a Cyclops.

Those are apparently a thing? I mean, why not. In our world, why the fuck not?

And then, he called, “Dean.”

Everything Sam was saying, and Bobby’s sarcastic commentary faded away, under that raspy, deep voice that sounds too damn weak for Cas, but it’s deep and familiar and  _ him _ .

And that’s enough.

I twist around to look at him and he’s leaning against the wall. Shaky. Still not Castiel.

That’s ok. I’ll take Cas over the douchebag, everyday of the week.

I grin at him, ignore my brother and our father, bound up the stairs and catch him in a hug. “Fuck, don’t do that,” I whisper against his hair.

“Ok,” he says, agreeable even if he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s agreeing to.

“Sam, bring some soup, would ya?”

Cas tries to pull away, to look at Sam or Bobby, but I’m already pulling him back to the bedroom and my brother hurries away to make something for the sick little angel to eat.

I force him into the shower, and I don’t join him, even when he pouts. I kiss him once, and shove him under the spray and toss his blood stained shirt in the trash. Pants too. Instead I fish out a pair of my sweats and a tshirt.

His tie and coat, I bundle up and shove at Sam when he arrives with soup and dry toast. “Get the blood out,” I tell him.

And Sam nods. Retreats.

When Cas emerges from the shower, I’m almost pacing. Anxious.

And then he’s there. In sweats that are too big and baggy and a tshirt that makes him look homeless, his hair tousled and wet and a disgruntled look on his face.

“Where are my clothes?”

“Gotta clean em. Sit down, you look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m fine,” he says, but he does what I say, and I fuss over him while he gives me that patient, ‘please stop’ stare.

I’m used to taking care of people. Sometimes, I feel like my whole life has been taking care of Dad and Sammy. And I never minded. If I had them to take care of, I knew where I fit. Where I belonged.

But Cas was different.

Cas pulled me from the pit, and pointed me in the direction Heaven wanted me to go. He fought at my side a thousand times. He saved me more times than I could count.

He has never needed me to care for him. Until now.

It’s fucking with my head.

“Dean,” he finally says, exasperated. And I stop hovering. Sip a beer that’s a little too warm as I watch him eat and tell him everything. How the battle ended, how he collapsed. Hanna bugging out to celestial parts unknown. Sam almost dying. And saying fuck it.

Let the civilians clean up, for once.

And here we are.

“Here we are,” he muses. His soup is gone, the toast mostly untouched. But he doesn’t look as pale now. As shaky. “Against all odds, we survived.”

“Don’t we always?” I ask, grinning at him, but it fades quickly.

Because we do. But we won’t. Not always.

“What is it?” he asks, swiveling to face me. His eyes searching. Questioning.

“Almost lost you, Cas.”

His eyes widen, a little. And then he puts aside his tray, and pulls me to him. His lips brush mine. Again. Harder, a fierce press and silent demand.

And I want to give in.

God I want to give in.

I want to let him strip me bare, want to lay back and feel him moving inside me, his hands and lips against me, branding me as his.

But.

“Cas, stop,” I whisper.

And he makes this noise. An irritated puff of air that is tinted with disbelief. “Stop?”

“Yeah,” I say, a little embarrassed that he’s so shocked. “Dude, you’ve been out for three fucking days. I’m not going anywhere. So just rest.”

He stares at me for so long worry crawls up my throat and lodges in my windpipe, and I can’t breath. And then he huffs a sigh.

“As you wish, Dean.” He says, grumpy as fuck, but. He rolls to his side, and tucks me against him. And he’s out, fast.

I let my fingers trace over his hands, low on my hips, holding me to him.

And for now, it’s enough.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes another two days before he loses all patience with me. Two days of sitting in front of the TV, curled against me, watching enough Doctor Sexy MD to rot his fucking brain. Two days of correcting the research that Sam is doing, pointing out the problems with hunting Cyclops. Two days helping Bobby by cooking us a decent meal and smiling, quiet and reserved, when Jody stops by.

Two days, watching me.

Here’s the thing.

Cas is a horny little fucker.

You wouldn’t think so, being a ‘interdimensional wavelength of celestial intent.’

But he is. And he’s still annoyed with me, for shutting him down. So as much as he watches me—he isn’t making a move.

But everyone fucking notices.

“Dude. What the hell did you do to Cas?” Sam asks me while we wash dishes, while Cas leans over Bobby’s desk and points out some shit about the Cyclops.

Seriously, why are we even worrying about that? Unless we’re floating around the fucking Aegean, I don’t think we’re gonna run into one.

“Nothing,” I say, defensive.

Sam gives me a skeptical look and I huff. “I shut him down. He wanted sex and he was sick and I shut him down.”

My brother laughs, because my brother is a dick. I glare at him and he shakes his head. “Bobby and I are going to town. Fix it. I’m tired of Cas being so fucking grumpy.”

I open my mouth to say something. Anything. But Sam is already calling for Bobby.

And just like that, they’re gone.

Off for a fucking supply run. Because we’re out of beer or some shit, god only knows. I wasn’t listening to the excuses they shoved at Cas, and from the vaguely annoyed look on his face, he wasn’t either.

“They are very transparent,” he says stiffly, and starts walking upstairs. I sigh, and follow him, slower.

He’s sitting on our bed and I push the door closed with my toe, and study him.

“You wanna tell me why you’re being so pissy?”

His gaze flares, furious blue flames, before he presses his lips together and turns away from me.

Shit.

He’s actually pissed. Not the kind of teasing playing at offended. And I remember. This is  _ Cas.  _ He doesn’t play the same games humans do. Which means.

“Fuck,” I whisper. I move, coming to crouch in front of him. “Cas, I—“

“Do you want me, Dean?” he asks, and his voice is soft. Rough and deep and soft and fragile.

So fucking fragile.

“Angel,” I breath. “Of course, I fucking want you.”

“You pushed me away.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ “Cas, you were sick. Hell, you’re still sick. I didn’t want to—“

“Hurt me?” His eyes flick up, and meet mine. Endless pools of brilliant blue that stare so fucking hard it hurts. “You pushed me away, Dean. You hurt me.”

“I’m sorry.” I whisper, reaching up, and running two fingers down his cheek. Curving under his chin and forcing his head up when he’d look away. “Cas, I’m sorry.”

Something hungry and angry and desperate flares in his eyes.

“Prove it.”

I hesitate, for a fraction of a second.

Because this isn’t the way we work.

Cas leads here. Call it whatever the fuck you want, because I’ve never bothered to quantify it or analyze. All I know is that I’ve taught Cas. How to be human, how to choose, how to be more than Heaven’s warrior.

And he taught me to love.

He taught me this.

“Dean?” he whispers, and it guts me. The fear in his voice fucking  _ kills _ me.

So I come up on my knees, and I kiss him. Hard. Lick at his lips until he whimpers and opens for me, his lips parting on a sigh. I lick into his mouth, flick over his teeth and twist against his tongue. My hands, resting on his knees, come up, framing his face and sliding into his messy hair and he whimpers.

But he doesn’t take control.

When I edge him back on the bed, and hover over him, my knees braced on either side of his hips, he doesn’t take control.

And it’s fucking with my head.

Cas is never pliant and submissive like this. Not here.

“Cas,” I whisper.

“Dean,” he says, and his voice is tighter, but it’s not the angry tight that had me worried. This is all the good things. Tight and hungry, and edging toward desperate. “Please quit talking.”

I huff a laugh into the kiss, and catch his lower lip with my teeth. And he moves, fucking finally. Groans and arches against me, his hips shoving up and pushing hard, grinding against my dick.

“Tell me what you want, babe,” I murmur and he makes this noise that drives me crazy. All hot and impatient and hungry. He makes that noise when he’s sliding inside me, or when I’m teasing him instead of sucking his dick.

“I want,” he pants, his voice twisted up in a groan as I suck a bruise against his collarbone.

He always loves when I mark him.

“What?” I tease.

“Want you to fuck me, Dean,” he gasps and I go still.

Because fuck it, he’s still not there. He’s still weak. I can still see him, slumped against the seat of the Impala, blood stark and terrifying against his skin.

I can still see bruises on him.

“Can’t,” I whisper. “Cas, don’t ask me for that.”

“I won’t break,” he says, and he’s gentle. Like he understands what I’m feeling. All of my fear. “Please, Dean. I need you.”

I stare at him.

This last battle—it fucked with him. Screwed not just with his strength, but with his head. There were a few times I thought I lost him, and that terrifies me. Because Cas is mine. He threw away everything to be with me. And I’ve done the same. Fuck what the angels want, what Hell expects, even Sammy—although thank fuck, he doesn’t care.

And this? This was shaken.

So I understand.

I grip his neck, light and pull him into me. When I kiss him this time, there’s something else to it. I’m agreeing. And he knows it. Makes this mewling noise that slams into my groin and I can’t help the roll of my hips into his. Grinding against his cock through the layers of clothes.

“Off,” I whisper against his lips and he makes a happy little noise, like, yes.  _ Yes. _

For a moment, it’s only that. We separate and scramble out of our clothes, and my fingers actually ache for the feel of his skin under them. But when I move back toward him, I have to freeze.

It's been a year, since that first kiss and furious fuck. Since Cas threw me into a wall and growled that I was his. That Heaven could fuck itself, because  _ I belonged to him. _

And I’m still not used to it. To seeing him laid out like this.

That I  _ get  _ to see him laid out like this.

All pale skin poured over lithe strength, bright eyes and messy hair begging for my touch.

Fuck.

He sighs when I crawl over him, a sigh that sounds like my name and a prayer. I want, suddenly, to break his control. To drag him to his knees and make him beg.

I want him as shattered and aching as he leaves me.

When he reaches for me, I bat his hand away. “Be patient,” I smile against his collarbone and he growls, and then snarls, when I bite down, marking him.

He groans when I sink lower and take him in my mouth.

And this. This is something I’ll never tire of. Of the shaky thrust he can’t seem to control. The taste of him, all salt and light on my tongue as I lick over the head of his cock and stroke him slow and lazy while I suck hard and he curses.

His voice goes high and garbled, when I’ve got his cock between my lips. Shaking and begging and, when I dig my nails into his hips and suck him deep, until he hits the back of my throat and his English breaks and there is only this Enochian chant above me.

I moan, rubbing against the bed and Cas groans, and pulls me away from him by my hair.

“Fuck me,” he snarls against my lips and I shake my head. “Dean,” he groans.

“Babe, you—“

“If you fucking tell me what I need, I’ll leave. I’ll go back to Hanna and Heaven. I  _ know _ what I need, Dean,” he snarls and it snaps something.

Hearing her name, here.

I shove him down and he laughs. The fucking angel laughs.

Manipulative bastards, all of them.

But fuck it. I pin him in place with one hand on his chest and reach for the lube in the drawer.

And I watch him. When I smooth lube over him and he shivers. When I push inside and his eyes roll back, his hips roll up and pleasure washes across his face, like a wave.

There’s nothing. Nothing in the whole fucking world like seeing Cas falling apart.

When he’s growling curses at me. When I am laughing at him and he’s cursing and reaching for me, snarling at me, that’s when I slide into him.

For a moment, as he takes me in, all I can do is be still.

There’s sex.

And then there’s this.

Somethings are more than physical. Even I’ll admit that, even as much as I hate feelings and shit.

Cas and I have always been more than physical.

But fuck, if I don’t love the physical shit too.

“If you don’t fucking  _ move,”  _ Cas says, his voice tight but remarkably even, “I  _ will _ kick your ass.”

I grin, and nudge forward a little, hitting that delicious little spot that makes him writhe. “Mouthy bastard, aren’t you.”

He snarls a curse and pushes back against me. “And your fucking afraid.”

My eyes go wide and collide with his, and there’s a challenge there.

My angel.

He claimed me, in so many ways, so many times. Even that first night together, when he slid into me. Fucked me until I came all over my chest, even then, he was claiming me.

“I’m only afraid of losing what’s mine,” I whisper. His eyes flare with victory and I pull out, groaning at the tight drag over my cock, and slam back into him. “Fuck Hanna and fuck Heaven. You belong with me. They can’t have you back,” I snarl.

And he gives this content little sigh, as if to say, ‘fucking finally’. His entire body going limp as I fuck him.

Hard. My hands on his hips are too hard and heavy and he’s fighting to shift up, to find my lips and I can’t. I need to see him. I reach between us and grasp his cock and jerk him off while I fuck him and his eyes are shining, this bright as fuck light that has nothing to do with grace and everything to do with me and then—

_ Fuck.  _ I groan and he snarls, wordless as he comes, his body tightening around me and I fucking lose it. Thrust into him again, almost violent as he says my name, hoarse and begging and then I’m coming, and it’s hard and hot and consuming.

For a second, I’m pretty sure I’m seeing his celestial form.

He’s smirking, when I finish cleaning us up and collapse next to him. This tiny, self satisfied thing.

“What?” I ask, already yawning. Cas curls into me, kisses my tattoo, and whispers.

“You said I’m yours.”

I blink. “Course your mine, angel. Who the fuck else would you belong to?”

He shrugs, a blinding smile on his face.

And nestles closer.

Used to be he was gone by now. I hated it, when he left. Always felt right when he was pushed against me, even before we started fucking. When he occupies the same space I do, it feels….right.

Maybe that’s what it means, to belong to someone else.

“Dean?” he mutters against my throat.

“Hmm?”

“Shut up and go to sleep. You’re thinking too fucking loud.”

I huff a laugh, but I do what he says. I quit thinking. And I sleep.

For now. It’s enough.


End file.
